Page 41 of Wrecker

But that wasn’t what got my feet moving. It was knowing my woman was waiting for me.

The second I stepped through the clubhouse doors, I barely had time to shut them before a blur of black curls and soft limbs crashed into my chest.

Peyton.

She launched herself at me and wrapped her arms tightly around my neck, her whole body vibrating with relief. I caught her easily—like I’d been waiting to hold her again since the second I left.

Which I fucking had.

I crushed my mouth to hers before a single word could pass between us. Her lips were soft and frantic, kissing melike I was air and she’d been choking without it. I licked deep, groaning into her mouth, my hands locking tight under her ass as I lifted her. Her legs wrapped around my waist, and for a heartbeat, nothing existed except her breath in my mouth and the desperate way she held on.

I knew there were others around, but at that moment, I didn’t give a fuck.

She was mine. And they knew it.

However, I wasn’t willing to let them see any more. I started down the hall, already headed toward our room, carrying her while she clung to me, breathless and so damn perfect. Her arms cinched tighter around me, her nose tucked into my neck like she needed to feel my pulse against her cheek to believe I was really back.

Then Fox’s voice cut through the air.

“Wrecker.”

He didn’t shout, but his tone was sharp as a blade. That quiet, authoritative rasp that made it clear he expected obedience the first time he spoke.

I stopped mid-step, jaw grinding, holding back the snarl that threatened to snap loose. Peyton blinked at me, a little dazed from the kiss, eyes shining as she looked up.

I didn’t want to let her go. Didn’t want to fucking stop. But I’d given Fox my oath, and I would not defy him—unless he ever got between Peyton and me.

Forcing myself to breathe through the slow burn of frustration crawling down my spine, I turned.

Fox stood by the pool table, one brow raised, mouth tugged into a smug half smile. With a casual flick of his wrist, he tossed something my way.

I caught it without thinking.

The leather was soft and broken in. Smaller than mine, but unmistakable.

A black vest, tailored for a woman’s frame. I knew that on the back was an Iron Rogues patch. And stitched across it would be the words: Property of Wrecker.

My chest clenched.

“’Bout fucking time,” Fox said with a wink, then turned and walked off.

I grunted my thanks—though it sounded more like a growl—then turned back down the hallway, stalking toward our room with my woman still wrapped around me and my property patch clutched in one hand like it was a lifeline.

When I kicked the door shut behind us and set her on her feet, she swayed a little, cheeks flushed, lips kiss swollen. Her eyes dropped to the vest in my hand, going wide and shining like sunlight through amethyst.

But when I didn’t move, the light dimmed.

I saw it—saw the flicker of doubt crease her brow, her teeth catching her bottom lip. She wanted to ask. I knew it.

The moment stretched too long, and she lost her nerve. A pout formed on her mouth, just a faint one, but it made me want to fucking devour her.

Biting back a grin, I couldn’t help teasing her. She was just too damn cute.

Instead of explaining, I reached for my woman and slowly peeled her out of her clothes. Almost reverently. I’d waited for this since the moment I first laid eyes on her. My fingers brushed over her skin with possessive strokes, baring inch after perfect inch until she stood naked in front of me, flushed and gorgeous and mine.

Peyton watched my every move, and her breath caught when I set the vest aside, folding it carefully on the edge of the bed.

The pout was back, and fuck, it was adorable.

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